


Second Spring

by morrnrhu64



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty Schmoop, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Bit of humour, Dorian Pavus Has Issues, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'll see myself out, Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus - Freeform, M/M, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus - Freeform, Mending a Broken Heart, Pavelyan - Freeform, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Last Resort of Good Men, Romance, Romantic Angst, Schmoop, Second Chances, Sort Of, a bit angsty, and so are the next twenty-seven amirite?, calum tries to help, i think???, i'm a mess and so is dorian, im sorry, inquisitor to the rescue, or a hopeful ending, romantic drivel, romantic projectiles, schmoopy angst, shameless use of folk music for my own purposes, the first cut is the deepest they say, with apologies to my ancestors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25684519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morrnrhu64/pseuds/morrnrhu64
Summary: Sometimes you get one, sometimes you don't.(Or, Dorian wasn't sure where he stood after what transpired between him and the inquisitor post-Amulet Incident. Calum attempts to make it clear.)
Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Male Trevelyan, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Rogue Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, past Dorian/others
Comments: 5
Kudos: 33





	Second Spring

**Author's Note:**

> So er this is a bit different. Someone very dear to my heart died recently, and I've been all out of sorts ~~I'm a wreck, my life is in shambles, hi how are you??~~ I guess I wrote this in an attempt to cheer myself up but idk if it actually worked ha ha. I'm...not too sure about Calum's characterisation here ~~maybe I should have gone with the other inquisitor? fuckkkk~~ but I can't keep fussing over it like this. My lad said, 'Write me a rom-com!' so... I did. Sort of. I just wish I'd finished it in time for him to read it. It's the sort of rubbish he always liked (anything with Meg Ryan, really, ha ha) ~~It's my own fault for procrastinating, I shouldn't have done but I just thought we'd have more time~~
> 
> anyway it's dumb, but we bonded over our deep and abiding love for folk music. We made playlists for each other and all, and we always put 'Loch Lomond' at the end of every list, after a silly meme he saw once. I always loved the way he used to sing it, with slightly different words to the ones you normally hear, so I've included a couple verses, his favourites. I like to imagine Calum singing it. It makes me feel a bit better. (Also, 'the Nevarran Lady' bit is a reference to an Irish song called 'The Spanish Lady' because idk Nevarra is Spain maybe?? Set a couple days after Dorian's romance scene, except pretend they had their little chat with their clothes ON, because of reasons.) ~~I'm rambling because once i post this it'll feel so...final~~ ~~i'm such a coward, i'm scared to accept it, i just want him back but he's gone forever and i feel like i'm dying~~  
>  So... I'll dedicate this stupid fic to him, I guess.
> 
> For Adam, my true love.  
> Perhaps we'll meet again someday, high above the bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.  
>   
>   
>   
> 

>   
>  _o, whither away, ma bonnie, bonnie May,  
>  sae late and sae fair in the gloamin',  
>  when the mist's growin' grey  
>  o'er the muirland and the brae,  
>  o, whither alane art thou roamin'?_  
>    
> 

\---

Dorian had had many lovers.

Many, _many_ lovers. Of varying age, appearance, and occupation; always in some semblance of secrecy, whether via actually clandestine meetings or in socially-accepted places of ill repute. He'd slept with men whose names he didn't know, with men whom he had to later pretend he'd never seen, with men who may or may not have been career criminals, bounty hunters, or defectors from the imperial army.

He'd honed his skill to a sharp point--it was no difficulty for him to identify what any given man wanted, how to use that to his advantage, and how to determine the exact timeframe wherein he could get away with stringing the poor fellow along before things went to shit.

It was something of a hobby for him, really. Didn't make him many friends, of course, but that was hardly the point.

That point being that despite Dorian's breadth of experience, a _certain person_ (around whom the inquisition may or may not have sprouted) was somehow managing to stand out.

Not _necessarily_ in a bad way, Dorian admitted to himself, as he reclined on his bed with a generous drink to dull the _not-shame_ burning in his veins. Seemed some habits were harder to break than others, and despite Calum's confident assertion of being good at breaking things, his own deeply ingrained self-hatred was not something Dorian was quite ready to entrust to another person. 

Stupid. All of it was. Calum had been a perfect gentleman about it. Well, all right, that wasn't true--but he'd been as close to a gentleman as he knew how to be, and anyway, Dorian probably would have found him boring, if Calum had been a paragon of _virtue_ and _chivalry._ As someone who had been encouraged his whole life to be perfect, Dorian was intimately acquainted with just how _dull_ perfection really was.

But Calum had been kind. Understanding. Rather charming, in fact, and he hadn't complained about Dorian's 'no love-bites above the collar' rule. He hadn't done anything that Dorian had told him not to, hadn't tried to wheedle his way anywhere that had been pronounced forbidden. It was frenzied, hot, passionate--up against the wall, mostly fully clothed, as if Dorian had driven Calum into such a state that he couldn't wait even to undress. 

Rather nice, being so desired. Especially when Dorian had actually been quite uncertain about Calum's interest in him--whether it was enough to bed him, or just a flight of fancy, or the lack of anything better to look at. Wouldn't be the first time. Dorian had learnt better than to let something like _that_ get to him.

It didn't matter, at any rate; Calum had wanted him, _still_ wanted him, if he was to be believed, and Dorian found himself now in entirely new territory. The awkward 'newly-declared-but-not-quite-comfortable-lovers' territory that he'd heard of but never truly experienced for himself. 

Hence the brandy and the heavy thoughts. After his, for lack of a better word, _heart-to-heart_ with the inquisitor, Dorian was feeling very much out of sorts. It was starting to interfere with the enjoyment of his conquest, which was a shame--after all, that was at least a quarter of the fun. Perhaps he didn't really believe that Calum would be interested enough to act like... well, like a lover. Perhaps he was merely paranoid about everything and everyone around him, after the whole debacle with his father.

Whatever his reasoning, it led to Dorian getting very drunk, and not leaving his room for a few days.

It's entirely possible that he wouldn't even have realised how long it'd been, if Calum hadn't come looking for him. But at some point in the evening, there was a knock at his door and a familiar voice calling his name.

'If you don't answer, I'll think you dead and panic,' warned the inquisitor's voice. 'And if I panic, I'll break the door in and Josephine will shout at me. Though I suppose I could just pick the lock...'

Pathetically dishevelled, Dorian fussed a bit with his hair, but there was nothing he could do on such short notice. His only recourse was to hope he didn't look (or _smell_ ) quite as bad as he felt, and answer the door, regardless.

'Inquisitor,' Dorian greeted him smoothly. 'To what do I owe the pleasure?'

There stood Calum, roguishly handsome as ever, though the teasing tone from before gave way to a bit of worry.

'Thought you might be hungry,' he said, holding out a little cloth-wrapped parcel. 'Nobody's seen you in days! Was my rendition of _"The Nevarran Lady"_ really that bad?'

Dorian forced a very fake-sounding laugh. 'No, no, of course not. Everything is perfectly fine, I assure you. I was simply--preoccupied with something; personal matters, you understand. Nothing to trouble yourself with.'

He regretted it immediately, partially because of how Calum looked almost... _disappointed_ in him.

'Och, Dorian, don't give me all that,' Calum chided him. 'Fuck's sake, if there's anyone you could talk to honestly...'

'No, I--I didn't mean...' He rubbed his dry, tired eyes, and stepped back to let Calum inside. The room suddenly felt far too small, and Dorian leaned into the wall and crossed his arms, as if it could keep him from suffocating. Calum spared a glance around before examining Dorian's face, possibly searching for signs of illness.

'I'm _fine_ ,' Dorian said pre-emptively.

'You don't... _look_ fine,' said Calum, putting the cloth bundle aside. 'You look... em...'

'Of course, forgive me for looking a fright,' Dorian snapped at him. 'We can't all be perfectly coiffed at all times, as the inquisitor undoubtedly is.' He wanted to bite his tongue as soon as the words were out--now, of course, Calum would leave, and even though Dorian had thought that he wanted that, he wasn't so sure anymore...

But Calum just looked at him, concern furrowing his brow.

'You're not feeling yourself,' said Calum, far more patiently than Dorian either expected or deserved. 'What can I do to help?'

'There's nothing you can do,' Dorian said wearily. 'It's--it's me. It's just... _me_ , and I can't...' He gesticulated vaguely with one shaking hand and turned away.

'That's all right,' said Calum. 'I'll wait here till you can.'

'You'll be waiting a long time.'

'I've got time enough to spare.'

When Dorian glanced at him, Calum was watching him silently with those eyes of his, the ones that were the same soft, fair blue as the skies over the churning waters of Lake Calenhad. Their expression was far more tender than Calum probably would have liked anyone to believe him capable of. Not an altogether bad look for him. And certainly much, much better than being perfect.

'I don't know what I'm doing,' Dorian sighed.

Calum shrugged, smirking. 'I never know what I'm doing,' he confided. 'Ever. I just flail about, and if anybody asks, I pretend it's on purpose.'

Frazzled, Dorian paced a little, scratching almost too hard at his head. 'What do you want from me?' he asked, bleated pathetically like a dying sheep. 'I don't--what do you _want_ from me?'

'Nothing?' Calum looked sincerely confused, which was only more distressing, and served only to make Dorian feel insane. 'I'm not... I'm not looking for anything from you. D'ye mean the amulet thing, again? I told you I got it back for you 'cause it's yours, and I meant that. You don't owe me a favour, you know.'

'You have to want _something_ ,' Dorian insisted. ' _Everyone_ wants something. I just don't know what it is. Not yet. Normally, it's sex, but if that was what you were after, you could've got it out of me much more quickly. I've seen you work someone over; this is... _different._ So it's not just sex. But I don't know what else it could--in Tevinter, it'd be--influence. Social climbing. To make yourself look good by rubbing elbows--among other things--with Magister Pavus's only son. But here? Here, they judge you for being seen with me. It can't be a political move; I have no sway here. You've had your way with me. So why are you _here?_ Why waste your time?'

Calum looked at him like he could see through him--through all the bullshit, through his defences, past the shroud of thorns he'd grown to protect himself. 

'You're expecting me to break your heart, aren't you?' Calum asked with merciless gentleness. 'You're expecting me to use you and then toss you aside, cast you away when I've become bored of you. Aren't you?'

Dorian felt his throat closing up, and swallowed against it.

Calum took a tentative step closer. Then another, and another. Dorian felt wonderfully as though he were being approached by an executioner--though really, perhaps he'd have preferred that. It might have been marginally less painful than having to face that his feelings for the inquisitor were--

Well. But that _was_ the problem, wasn't it?

Dorian's vision was suddenly quite blurry. He tried to will it away, tried to fight the pathetic instincts he'd thought long buried, long overcome. _You've learnt this lesson already,_ he told himself. _It was painful enough to be remembered. Too painful to be forgotten._

'You wouldn't be the first,' Dorian snapped with false bluster. 'And you won't be the last, either. It would be shockingly naive of you to think that things could turn out any differently. Horribly naive--pathetically so! I would expect more of you.'

'Is that really what you think of me?' Calum asked, finally closing the distance between them. They stood nearly chest to chest. Did he feel how Dorian's heart was racing? 

Dorian couldn't resist the urge to look at him, despite the danger. He found himself rooted in place by those eyes, by the colours swirling within them, so terribly blue, blue _upon_ blue, blue _ad infinitum._ Calum was awfully handsome. It really was becoming detrimental to Dorian's self-preservation instincts.

'You think I'm an idiot? That I'm stupid and naive and pathetic? That I ought to know better than to care? That I'm a fool for believing that what I'm feeling is real? Is that what you think I'm like?' Calum asked. 'Or are you really talking about _yourself?'_

'Shut up,' Dorian hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. 'Shut up! You don't know what it's like! You can't just--you can't just expect me to--!'

'To what?' The prodding, though gentle, was unbearable. But Dorian couldn't give him the satisfaction. 'I can't expect you to...?'

'To--to just--! To know what to say! To know what to _do!_ To just--stand here and let you--let you--!' It was getting too hard to breathe, too hard to see. There was a burning sensation in Dorian's eyes, in his throat, behind his lips. 

_No._ No, he'd outgrown such foolishness. He wasn't that boy any longer. He wasn't the fragile, helpless, stupid little pissant he'd once been, too saucy for his own good, too sentimental for _anyone's_ good, too _weak_ for Tevinter.

_Too weak for his father._

Perhaps Calum took pity on him. Or perhaps he'd suddenly developed the power to read minds, and sought only to save Dorian from _that_ particular downward spiral. His hands came up to rest lightly on Dorian's elbows, anchoring him to the present.

'You're afraid that I'll leave you,' said Calum, stubborn and relentless. 'And more afraid that I _won't._ That I'll stay with you of my own free will. You're afraid that I'll love you... and you're afraid that you'll _let_ me. That's what it is, isn't it?'

'Bastard!' Dorian sobbed, shoving Calum away. 'You--stupid, _stupid_ bastard!'

'Och, Dorian--'

'No! No, you don't get to _chide_ me! Not after you lay me bare, extracting my problems for all and sundry to see! You can't talk me out of my issues, no matter how silver your tongue! This is _my_ problem, and you can't fix it! You can't fix _me!'_

Dorian snatched a tin of pomade from his desk and lobbed it at Calum's head. Then he threw a comb, and an empty cologne bottle, and a discarded shoe, for good measure.

'I'm not trying to--there's nobody else even here!' Calum protested, taking Dorian's sudden assault remarkably well. 'I'm not trying to fix it, I just want to _understand!'_

'Well, you _can't!'_ Dorian seethed, tossing a small lacquered box, followed by an old apple core, an embroidered cushion that didn't belong to him, and another shoe. 'You have some nerve, coming in here like you _own_ the place--'

'I was worried! I just wanted to make sure you were all right!' One of Cassandra's trashy novels caught him in the chest with a rather satisfying _thud_ , eliciting a soft, 'Oof!'

'--telling me how I feel, _psychoanalysing_ me like some Orlesian charlatan who thinks himself _wise_ because he studied for a year at some academy or another--'

'I promise you, I never went to any academy at all, nor any university, nor have I ever _willingly_ undertaken any sort of scholarly endeavour--'

'--And what's more, you don't even have the _decency_ to let me tell you on my own! _No,_ you've got to be _the Inquisitor,_ and _inquisit_ it all out of me like--like--!'

Dorian paused for breath, chest heaving, and realised he had run out of things to throw. Calum slowly lowered his arms from where they had been shielding his face from flying produce and cosmetics.

'I... I'm sorry,' Calum said tentatively. 'I rather did force your hand, didn't I?'

'You certainly did,' Dorian snapped.

'I... suppose I thought you'd feel better for having it out. Like a splinter, or... ye know. A rotten tooth.' He at least had the grace to look suitably abashed. 

'But it wasn't _your_ tooth to pull, was it? And you didn't even administer medicinal brandy first.'

Calum cracked a smile. 'I'll remember for next time. Will you let me...?' 

He stretched out his arms, reaching for Dorian despite the recent onslaught of projectiles. Dorian might have scorned such a gesture of vulnerability, if only he hadn't felt so fragile, so _weak,_ himself.

So he nodded, once, and found himself surrounded by warm, strong arms, and clasped against a leanly muscled chest. There was just enough a difference in height between them that Dorian could comfortably tuck his head under Calum's chin without accidentally choking the man. It was a nice feeling. _Too_ nice. It made Dorian's tears, previously dried by his outrage, rise to the surface once more.

'I... I've been through this before,' Dorian said into Calum's shirt. 'I know the steps of this dance. At first, it's all lust and infatuation. But once that's gone--and it _will_ go, it always does--I won't be needed anymore. Just a port in a storm. There's nothing _more._ Not for someone like me.'

They stood there silently in one another's arms. 

'Do you trust me?' Calum asked, suddenly, breath gusting gently through Dorian's hair.

'What sort of--of course I do, you idiot. You know I do. Why ask me that?'

'You trust me to have your back in the field. But I'm not talking about battle. I mean--here. Now. Do you trust me, not just for a fight--but... for anything?'

Dorian eyed him suspiciously. 'Despite my better judgement--and despite your recent display of untrustworthiness... yes, I suppose I do trust you.'

Calum smiled, looking almost too innocent to be the cause of Dorian's suffering. Almost.

'Then trust me, _believe_ me when I tell you that I'm not going to use you. I'm not going to cast you aside. I'm not going to abandon you. You're not a port in a storm for me, Dorian. For me, you're--you're like... you're like the Ostwick harbour. No matter how far I roam, no matter how long I've been away... When I see you, I know I've come home.'

Dorian felt his face crumple, despite his best efforts. 'Stupid bastard,' he scolded, cuffing Calum on the shoulder with a pathetic sniffle. 'Don't you _dare_ break my heart. I'm not--I couldn't--'

'I know,' said Calum, quite gentle, quite solemn. 'I know. Sometimes hearts don't mend just right. Sometimes, you're never quite the same again. I have a song for that, incidentally.' He waggled his eyebrows, coercing a smile out of Dorian in spite of himself. 'But you know?' he added, serious once more. 'Sometimes you get another chance. And it's like your heart is good as new. Different, aye. But still good.'

'You really believe that?' Dorian asked, soft, uncertain.

'No one you meet could promise to leave you the same as they found you. Every person we ever meet changes us, even if it's just in some little way. But sometimes the change is for the better. You'll always have that, no matter what happens. And so will I. I will always be a better man for having known you. And... and I hope, someday, I'll get the chance to return the favour.'

Dorian sighed, feeling the heavy knot in his chest slowly begin to untangle, just the littlest, tiniest, _slightest_ bit.

'I think, perhaps,' he said, coaxing Calum's head down toward himself, foreheads pressed together in a gesture that felt somehow as intimate as a kiss, 'and don't let it go to your head, you're insufferable enough as it is. But maybe, just _maybe_... you already have.'

\---

>   
>  _o, the wee birdies sing and wildflowers bloom  
>  and the sun in the water lies sleeping,  
>  but the broken heart, it kens  
>  nae second spring again,  
>  though the waeful may rise frae their weeping._  
>    
> 

  



End file.
